


New Year's: It's Going to be a Good One

by Calacious



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, New Year's Eve, Yuletide Treat, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 20:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17050121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: Ben muses on Midsomer parties and ends up finding something he likes.





	New Year's: It's Going to be a Good One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crysgen78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crysgen78/gifts).



> This is my first time working in this fandom, but I wanted to try to gift you a fic in every fandom that you'd requested. I hope that this does not disappoint. 
> 
> Happy Christmas!

Ben likes parties as much as anyone else, but this party is getting a little out of hand if he’s any judge. He wagers that he’s the only sober person left and it’s nowhere near midnight yet. 

He’d thought that ringing in the New Year in a small place like Midsomer would be a quiet affair. He’s quickly learned that simply isn’t the case. Apparently Midsomer can party like any big city, and even harder by the looks of it.

He chuckles and shakes his head when a woman, adorned in some flashy sequined dress that is blinding in all its gaudy glory, clambers on top of a table and starts dancing. Her movements are more than a little suggestive and do not match the jazzy music that’s playing in the background. Her boyfriend or husband is leering at her and clearly enjoying the show that she’s putting on for him and everyone else.

The man cups his hands around his mouth and says something that’s lost to Ben in the loudness of the crowd and the music, but Ben gets the gist of it when the woman, still gyrating like a defunct robot, reaches up underneath her dress with the hand she isn’t swinging to the beat of music that no one else is listening to and pulls out a pair of raunchy, red lace panties that she tosses at the man. They land on his face and everyone explodes into laughter and cheers. Ben turns away when the man crushes the panties to his face and takes a big whiff of them.

Ben will never understand the urge that men have to sniff women’s panties. Wear them upon occasion, sure. He likes how the silkier panties feel against his skin. Likes when he’s got someone else to share the feel and look of them with when he’s entertaining a lover. There’s a certain thrill that he get when he’s wearing women’s clothing that Ben almost always keeps to himself.

He’s minding his drink, keeping his eyes off of the woman who’s still on the table and trying not to get caught out staring at some of the more outlandish behaviors of the people who are now his neighbours when he catches the eye of a young man who’s just a touch taller than he is. The man gives him a quick smile, revealing a stunning set of dimples, and tilts his head in acknowledgement. The man holds his drink up as though to salute Ben before taking a long swig of the foaming beer. Ben takes a swig of his own lager and nods his own acknowledgement, feeling a little lightheaded and a lot turned on by the dark-haired, well-built man who hasn’t taken his eyes off of him.

It takes a full minute for Ben to notice that the man, eyes still locked on Ben’s, is coming toward him, and when he does finally notice, his palms are sweaty and his mouth dry. It could mean nothing. The handsome man could be mistaking Ben for someone else. On the other hand, it could mean everything. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” the man says, leaning in close enough for Ben to feel the man’s breath ghost across his lips.

Ben’s heart sinks and he gives the man a grimace of a smile. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong man,” he says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

The man settles in beside Ben, leaning against the bar that Ben’s sitting at, shoulder touching Ben’s. He runs a tongue over his lips and tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth before gracing Ben with another dimply smile that makes Ben’s heart flutter in his chest.

Maybe he’s had more to drink than he thought he’d had. He feels warm and tingly and can’t quite drag his eyes away from the man’s mouth.

"I’ve got the right man,” the man says, voice dropping into something sinful. 

“But, we’ve never met before,” Ben says, lips feeling like rubber. 

“Oh, I see what the problem is,” the man says, bumping his shoulder into Ben’s. Playful. “Would you believe me if I told you that we’ve met in my dreams?"

"Oh...” Ben trails off as the man’s lips hover just inches from his, only vaguely aware that the man has moved so that Ben’s body is trapped between the bar and his, and that the man has used a very cheesy pickup line. He should be offended. He isn’t. He should feel trapped. He doesn’t. 

He feels heady and drunk and dizzy and like he could stay there forever, stuck between this man’s body and the bar and not want for anything, except maybe a kiss. He should say something, but words come and go through his mind like butterflies flitting from flower to flower and he can’t catch a single one of them. It’s maddening.

Ben watches the man’s lips, biting his own when the man’s lips part and he wets them. He has only a moment to notice that the man’s lips are moving toward his own when they are on his and the world explodes in a cacophony of sound and color and heat. He sees fireworks behind his closed eyelids and knows that the analogy is almost as cheesy as the pickup line that mystery man with the lips of a god used on him a few moments ago.

Ben’s lips part with a gentle urging from Mr. Dream’s prodding tongue. He’s only vaguely aware that the clock is striking midnight, that there are cheers going up completely unrelated to the cheering that his body is doing in response to the best kiss that he’s ever had. He doesn’t need to breathe, he thinks, lightheaded when the mystery man pulls away to allow them to do just that. Ben’s lips, swollen and warm and aching with need, chase after the other man’s lips and he whimpers when they meet with the tip of an index finger. He opens his eyes then, looks up into eyes that are as dark and deep as molasses. 

“Wha...” he asks, or means to ask the question that’s at the tip of a tongue that’s been drenched in the richest of ambrosia. 

Understanding dawns in the other man’s eyes and he gives Ben another dimpled smile, another brief, chaste kiss on the lips before pulling away. “My name’s, Kyle,” he says. 

“Ben.” Ben manages to get his uncooperative mouth to work well enough to choke out his name earning himself another bright smile and lips against the outer edge of his ear. 

“What do you say about taking this out of the public eye?” Kyle asks.

Drunk on more than cheap lager, Ben nods, and when Kyle holds out a hand for his, he allows himself to be pulled out of the pub and into the cold that he doesn’t feel.

"Happy New Year, Ben,” Kyle says, eyes twinkling beneath the moonlight that bathes their path. “I have a feeling that it’s going to be the best year yet,” he says. “After all, it’s already brought me the man of my dreams."

"Happy New Year,” Ben echoes the sentiment, heart lighter than it’s been in a long time. He has a feeling that this new year will be a good one, too, cheesy pickup lines aside.

 


End file.
